


He Shines

by elgeonmb



Category: Chuubo's Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine (RPG)
Genre: (which is why we're here), D/s, More Warmain Content, Other, Romance, and involves uh, from me, if this is potentially upsetting to you i recommend not reading it!, light fluff, so it's actually a little bit fraught, specifically between a dude and a clay and wood robot he activated, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22272163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elgeonmb/pseuds/elgeonmb
Summary: A young Warmain's most devoted follower waxes lyrical about his beauty.
Relationships: OC/OC
Kudos: 3





	He Shines

The things about himself that Master Sarrin fears most are what I love most about him.

How sad that is! How disloyal, even! I do love his more benign qualities, because I love him. He has a beautiful smile and a beautiful laugh and he's a deft hand at bridge, which is a game I have been told is very mature and sophisticated. He is patient and kind and I love him for it-- I couldn't love someone like him if he weren't patient and kind. But...

There's a fire burning in him, an ambition, a hunger that claws him up, and that is more beautiful than any toothy grin. His wanting drives me mad with my affection. This isn't just a dark bodice-ripping romance sort of thing, it should be clear. Obviously there's some part of me that lusts after that dark brooding byronic hero archetype. I am predictable in this way. But that isn't what this is about. This is about his brilliance.

He shines, my Master does, like a jewel in the dark. He doesn't like that he shines. He thinks it's bad to shine in this way, in some abstract nebulous sense of "bad" that pretends some sense of absolute cosmic justice, which of course doesn't exist. I do tell him this. I do say, "Sarrin,"

I call him "Sarrin" because it frustrates him to be called "Master" anything, which, of course, is part of this whole complex I am alluding to.

"Sarrin," I say, "There's no such thing as good or evil, you know, on an objective level." He looks very distant at this, he does. I think he knows something about this which I do not. I think there is something in that dark vision he sees about good and evil, objectively, which he will not share with me. This does not particularly enthrall me to him. This is not his shining. This only appeals to me to that very primal part that lusts after dark heroes that I have alluded to. 

It makes him sad to think about this, which makes me sad because I love him. Ultimately I suppose this sadness is probably a necessary part of seeing a dark future and not immediately becoming a cackling supervillain, but still does it sadden me. At this point in this generalized scenario I wrap him tightly in my wooden hugging arms, which I have, and nuzzle my clay nuzzling cheek into his.

The nuzzling cheek is just my regular cheek, by the way, I was just being playful.

Physical affection puts him at ease with these things, jars him out of his brooding. I worry about his background. I worry that, you know, in the world-that-could-have-been where he wasn't always a Warmain, he didn't have anyone to hug him in their wooden hugging arms, or their regular hugging arms I suppose. 

He hugs me back, even though I suspect I am not particularly good for hugging at (wooden hugging arms aside). This is because he loves me. I melt at his love for me. Not literally, usually, I wouldn't want to get dirt on his handsome uniform. But metaphorically? A puddle. He is so _much_. He fills my senses with his him-ness. Here he is shining. Here he is alight with the fire of want. He is strong, he is, his fingers leave impressions on my shoulders and my back. I adore him.

To be clear I am not immediately thrown into subspace every time he touches me. That would be terribly inconvenient. But it happens sometimes and in this generalized hypothetical it happens so I can explain this situation to you. 

There is something about my melting that frightens him. He associates it with his Warmain-ness, with this evil he sees in himself, that he has charisma that can reduce me so. He worries that, his having woken me from my dreadful sleep and replaced my missing brain with a rock, that it is improper to carry on a relationship with me, especially one of this nature.

He is mollified when I remind him that I have chosen him of my own will, on his own merits, and that I enjoy being made small by him. It is like drowning in sugar and honey. It is delicious and delirious, it is. It leaves me feeling light and floaty and connected to him. 

He is mollified when I remind him that I enjoy this. He doesn't stop himself from loving me or showing me that light of his. But it still frightens him. How blessed am I that he overcomes this fear for me! I try not to talk about him in such devotional tones, you know, because he thinks it strange, but he is my Master and I adore him.

He is afraid of being majestic, important, a leader of men, even though his charisma is literally palpable and he's very good at chess. He is afraid of shining. He is afraid that being this way will make him like the Warmain he was before he became Master Sarrin. I assure him this is not the case, in no small part because I think I would not like to kiss him if he had a bad moustache like the old Warmain did.

I can't quite say what that shining is, if it isn't his nature as Warmain and as leader of the Host, which I am sure it isn't because as I mentioned I am not overcome in this way by those other Warmains I have met. I think it is his quality of being a good person, a leader-by-example, someone who I think could be comfortable and at ease with the way he is, even hungering so for the future as he does. I think it is the fact that he is a person worth admiring. 

I think this because I know that more than he is afraid of being strong he is afraid of being weak, of letting anyone else see that he is afraid. He shakes at night, and cries, but only when he thinks I am asleep. What strength! To bear up the burden of what has happened to him. I have told him, "Master,"

In cases like this I might call him "Master" and be reasonably assured that it will not make matters worse.

"Master," I say, "you can cry in front of me, you know." 

At this he hugs me tightly and stains our faces with clay and tears and he says to me, "I love you Page," or, if I am fortunate, "I love you, my Page".

That is what I love about him, what drowns me in him, what makes me his. Not that he gets frightened, or that he doesn't like to show it. But that he may trust me with his fear and weakness, that I may carry it with him-- I feel blessed by this. I feel special. I feel important to him, treasured, irreplaceable. I long for that opening-up to me. I want to ease his struggles and his burdens, you know, as a Page would.

I should love nothing more in the world than to bear on my shoulders as much of his weight as I can, and watch him walk forward, lightened, shining as he shines, into his future, and to follow him to that future by his side.


End file.
